Hot Summer Day

It was a true hot summer day--one worthy of the sluggishly soulful classic from Sly & The Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime." I had to work, of course, and I did so in the comfort of a sterile and insulated office environment which featured central air conditioning. However, I did have to come and go in the swelter to get to work.

I wore a whiff of a sleeveless sheath dress and flip flops to work. When I exited my building for the four block slog to the garage, the heat was already palatable. I turned onto a side street. The garbage collection trucks were already there, collecting piles of black plastic bags of waste. The refuse collectors saw me and waved, wishing me a good morning. "Drink lots of water today" one yelled at me with a wink, "it's gonna be a hot one!" And indeed, he was not kidding. It was already 88 degrees at 7 am. The collected garbage on the street smelled oppressive. I caught the scent of rotting food and coffee and dog shit. It was horrific. And there was no hint of breeze. I walked as fast as I could uphill to get to the garage.

There's a hard and fast rule which is true. The parking garage where I house my reliable Angus is ten degrees hotter in the Summer and ten degrees colder in the Winter. It was oppressive when I walked in this morning. My dress clung to every part of me like a piece of Saran Wrap. Any make up that I had applied had dripped off my face. I was sweating in places I didn't know a person could sweat. All I know is that I wanted to get in my car and blast the AC at sub-zero temperatures. Immediately.

I was approached by the current garage attendant, Mohamed. He was in a chatty mood. Me, not so much. I was soaking wet. As he rambled on in his usual stream of consciousness way, I felt the urgency to be abrupt. I said I was late (a lie) and had to go. Truth is, I was about to faint in a pool of middle aged sweltering.

Once within the comforting and air conditioned confines of Angus, I felt better. I looked like shit with all my make up sweated off, but I felt better.

I spent the day in relative comfort in the office. I knew hydration would be important today so I drank 100 ounces of water throughout the course of the day. I confess I was peeing like an incontinent but I was confident I was replenishing appropriately. When I landed back in Manhattan tonight, it was nearly 100 degrees at 7:30 pm. When I arrived at the garage, Mohamed was there. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Donkey they rode in on.

Mohamed attempted to engage me in idle conversation in that sweltering garage which felt like Satan's Sauna. He was complaining about the heat and his discomfort. I finally blurted out, "Yes, it's hot. Which is why I need to leave this fucking garage. Right now." I don't think he appreciated that. He frowned in that rather earnest but reserved way that polite foreigners do.

As I walked home, I saw fire hydrants opened at every block and children cavorted in joyful fashion in the fanning spray. I saw four hydrants opened and water flowing rhythmically down the streets to the Hudson in a rather pretty dance.

And my goddammed dress was stuck to me like Saran Wrap.